Prosecco & Paparazzi (The Passport Series Book 1) (30 page)

Upon entering, a blonde goddess approached with just the right amount of obsequiousness and sincerity. “Welcome! I’ll give you a few minutes to take a look. Please let me know when you’re ready.”

Having no real idea where to shop or what was needed for the weekend, it was great to have a chance to look around. Just a moment later, I realized all the dresses were wedding dresses. No sooner had that dawned on me than the bell over the door jingled, and in rushed a moment of street noise.

Looking over my shoulder, I saw Hillary enter, giving me an expectant look. I realized instantly what she was thinking, and it was wrong! Had she called Tiziana? Something in Tiziana’s voice had sounded a bit off.

Just then, Taylor entered the store. She took one look around and the smile on her face built to epic proportions.

Walking over to them, in order not to be overheard by the blonde goddess, I whispered, “It isn’t what you think. Let’s get out of here.” Turning around, I thanked the confused employee profusely and whisked everyone out the door.

Once on the sidewalk and away from the door, Hillary pulled me by the elbow and forced us all to stop. “You disappear to Dublin for the weekend, leaving Taylor and me to wonder if something was happening, good or bad. Then you return and invite us to a wedding dress shop, only to tell us you’ve made a mistake? Charlotte! Did Liam propose? Are you having second thoughts?”

Seeing the confusion in their eyes, I felt a bit guilty and blurted out, “No, he didn’t propose. Liam and I are going to Saint-Tropez, and I need something to wear. I saw the shop the other day. It looked like the right place from the outside. Sorry.”

The two women looked at me, a bit stunned. “You’re going?” Taylor asked. “Will Des Bannerman be there?”

Standing aside to let some people pass, I answered, “I am and I don’t know.”

Hillary became the Queen of Belgravia and took control of the situation. “Well, then we need to get over to Sloane Street. There are some decent shops there. We only have a few hours, but we can probably get you sorted out with a few things. Honestly, Charlotte, leaving this to the last minute! You won’t be able to have anything fitted.” With that, she raised her hand elegantly and flagged down a cabbie.

A few hours later, we had toured the ins and outs of Alberta Ferretti, Anya Hindmarch, Marni, La Perla, and Fendi. Pushing away Hillary, who was holding up yet another cocktail dress for my inspection, I whined from exhaustion. “I’m not trying anything else on tonight. I’ll come back tomorrow, but, for now, I’m finished. I’m also starving. Let’s go find food.”

Taylor was with me. “I’m a native New Yorker, the child of a woman whose only concern is image. I’m a woman who has been and always will be a slave to fashion, but Hillary, you’re killing me. I’m done. I need food, a drink, and, most importantly, a place to sit down.”

Dripping with disappointment, Hillary handed the gown back to the salesperson, asking her to hold it until tomorrow and assuring her we would return.

Minutes later, the three of us were ensconced in comfy chairs in the Langtry at the Cadogan Hotel. I was famished to a point of desperation and ordered an array of finger foods for the table. It wasn’t until we had consumed quite a bit of food and finished one glass of wine with another on its way that civil discourse was approached.

“Can you believe that Lillie Langtry lived here? I’m not sure that even Tiziana could have held a candle to her,” Taylor remarked, taking in the marble fireplace, red velvet cushions, and chandeliers.

Finally returning to the evening’s earlier confusion, Hillary remarked, “I have to admit, of us all, Tiziana was the last one who I thought would get married. She seemed disinterested to me. She seems happy, though. Ted appears to be a pleasant man.”

“Well, I’ve only met her very briefly and have to admit that I’m surprised! She’s just so ‘va-va-voom.’ However, it isn’t like Ted is the average guy. Life will be plenty extraordinary, I’m sure,” Taylor added.

I chuckled and nodded in agreement. “Life for her does seem to exist on a different plane. Speaking of planes, Tiziana said we’re staying on a boat. I’m supposed to get the information from you,” I said to Hillary.

Raising a glass of chilled champagne to her lips, Hillary took a small sip before remarking, “Boat? Trust Tiziana to call it a boat. It’s 635 feet long.
The Sophia
has a helipad, eighteen cabins, a crew of thirty-six, and endless luxuries! I’ll give you the information when we get home.” She took another taste of champagne before asking, “But what finally convinced you?”

“Well, it was Liam, actually. He encouraged me and, after we talked about it some more, I decided to hell with it. The hard part was getting Faith Clarkson to agree to me taking time off. Of course, she’s expecting something in return. Anyway, I really need to come face to face with Mr. Bannerman, get things out in the open, and deal with it!” I raised a hand to stop Hillary from interrupting. “Don’t worry, I’m not going just to pick a fight. I’ll be as discreet and diplomatic as possible. But you have to admit, short of an event having something to do with Tiziana and Ted, I’m not likely to run into Des Bannerman. If I don’t do it now, I won’t be able to go to the wedding, and that feels terrible.” I averted my eyes, bright with tears. The platinum and gold sling-backs of my Prada sandals sparkled in the warm light.

Once under control, I drained my glass, and said, “Ladies, if you’re ready, it’s time to go home. I have a busy day of work and shopping ahead of me tomorrow. Are you available for another round? I still need one more dress and some beachwear.”

Grumbling disparaging comments, both Taylor and Hillary committed to more frantic shopping. “Don’t forget, you need an engagement present, too,” Hillary added as we exited the lovely Edwardian building. I made a silent note to myself that I wasn’t going to worry about that. What could they possibly need or want that I could find in the next twenty-four hours?

***

By the time Liam’s plane landed on Wednesday evening, I was seriously regretting the decision to go to Saint-Tropez. Very little real work had been accomplished and guilt had settled in.

Fortunately, Liam had a righteous speech prepared, which lit a fire under my sense of injustice. Soon, I was willing to face a firing squad and Faith Clarkson, for a shot at redemption.

“While I have no idea how much all your finery has cost, and please don’t tell me, I have to say you’ve made excellent choices.” He was closely examining a lacey lilac chemise I was wearing. “I can’t wait to see what else you’ve got in those bags.” He lifted the gown over my head and threw it onto a chair. A very satisfied and primal look crossed his face. “That’s my favorite outfit,” he added before lying down on top of me.

WE STAYED AT A HOTEL
near Stansted Airport, since we had a very early departure. We woke up in time to nibble on toast and jam in bed. While we ate, I shared my excitement with Liam about the boat.

“It’s
how
long?” he asked, when I had described the eighteen cabins and helipad.

I bit into another piece of toast. “Hillary says 635 feet. It must be huge!”

“How much money does Ted have?” There was a bit of awe in his voice.

“I have no idea. All I know is that I’ve never looked forward to being on a boat this much.” I imagined myself lounging on the deck with a fruity cocktail in hand.

“Well, if we don’t quit daydreaming, we’ll miss the plane and possibly the boat. Get a move on it.” He gave me a nudge with his toe. Looking at the clock, I put my cup and plate back on the tray and dashed for the shower.

As soon as we arrived at the airport, we checked in and then headed toward the departure gate. Liam browsed at a newsstand while I went in search of the restrooms.

I found him looking out the window at the tarmac. A sleek Learjet with its nose pointed in the opposite direction gleamed in the sunshine. “Nice plane!”

“Yes, it is. I would imagine Ted has one of those, as well.”

“Do you have plane envy?” I teased.

“Not at all. We all know it isn’t the size, but how you use it. My plane is bound for the south of France, soon to be full of people filled with joie de vivre. His plane is parked in a hangar, empty and useless.”

Laughing at his innuendo, I tugged him away from the window. “Let’s go find out if they’re loading your plane yet.”

We didn’t have long to wait before we boarded our flight from London to the Marseille Provence Airport. Caught up in my excitement, and diverted by Liam, the four hour flight felt as though no sooner had
his
plane ascended than the pilot announced our descent. We surveyed the brilliant blue sea and colorful stucco buildings that were scattered down the blue-green hills, forming a boundary between sea and land. The sight was spectacular.

A few rows back, a little boy yelled, “Wow, look at that boat.” Peering out the window, it wasn’t hard to figure out which boat he was referring to. A sleek, white yacht with a red stripe dominated the harbor below; next to it, the smaller, more colorful boats bobbed like fishing lures in the water.

Finally, with luggage in hand, we stepped out into the heat and bright sunshine of southern France. In front of the airport, Liam asked, “Now what?”

“Tiziana sent an email saying a driver would meet us here, so look for someone looking for us.”

After a moment or two, a voice thick with French sophistication said, “Mademoiselle Young?”

“Yes. I mean,
oui
,” I replied with much less elegance. Choosing to ignore Liam’s chuckle, I said more assertively, “Yes, I’m Miss Young.”

“How delightful. My name is Maurice Girard. I’m Monsieur Blackwell’s driver. I’m to drive you to the airport, where the helicopter will take you to Saint-Tropez.”

While Liam and I processed what Monsieur Girard had just said, a flurry of French was directed at two teenaged boys, and our bags were stowed into the back of a shiny black limousine.

I said “Merci” when Maurice opened the door for Liam and me. We scooched in and were immediately enveloped in the luxury of wealth.

“Not my style, but it’ll do. So, do you have any idea what’s happening?” Liam asked with a confused smile.

“No! When I told Tiziana the flight plans, she said she would sort everything out. Honestly, all I did was Google the closest airport to Saint-Tropez. I was so busy, I didn’t think beyond that. I don’t even know how far away it is. I just thought we would get a map at the car rental. Oh no! I have a car rented. I’ll have to call and cancel.” I dug through my purse to find my phone.

He gave me a quick kiss while I dialed. “Well, you know what they say, when in Rome, do as the Romans.” Stretching his legs out in front of him, he poured us each a glass of prosecco and then proceeded to twiddle with all the buttons and knobs. I silently toasted Tiziana, thanking her for treating us to one of this year’s best proseccos, Bisol.

When I got off the phone, I drained my glass and began to wonder how smart this trip was. Not much planning had gone into it, and a whole lot of trouble could come of it.

Liam refilled my glass. “Don’t worry. One snafu. Who knew we’d need a helicopter and not a rental car?”

“Tiziana!” I replied without hesitation.

“Maybe she thought you would enjoy a helicopter ride.”

“Who knows? This feels so weird! If someone had told me a year ago that I’d be in a limo on my way to hitch a ride on a helicopter to board a yacht in Saint-Tropez with
the most
incredible
Irishman, I would have thought that they or I was on drugs.”

***

Just over an hour later, we touched ground once again. “God! I never want to ride one of these things again.” My voice was wobbly, and the stress and alcohol hadn’t agreed with me so I’d been queasy every windswept moment of the flight.

“It’s all over now! Just a short drive to the harbor.”

Walking across the tarmac, still escorted by the limousine driver Monsieur Girard, Liam said in a startled voice, “Would you look at that?”

“What?”

“There!” He pointed to what appeared to be the same Learjet we had seen at Stansted Airport, rolling to a stop off in the distance.

“Plane envy? Darling, not only is your plane bigger, it’s faster!”

“Well, not
too
fast, I hope!” Liam glanced at me with a sexy smolder.

I was feeling quite overwhelmed. Between nerves at seeing Des, helicopters, and leaving a mountain of work behind, I was more than happy to sit quietly while Monsieur Girard made his way through the maze of one-way streets and arrived at Port de Saint-Tropez. There, an enormous, sleek white yacht with a blue stripe floated, bobbing beautifully on the sea. The yacht we’d seen in Marseille was miniscule in comparison.

The moment the car stopped, my door was whipped open, and I was in Tiziana’s arms. I took in the deep-throated giggle, the scent of sunscreen, and perfume.

“Come on, bella, get out. We’ve been waiting all day for you to arrive. We’re all so excited.” She hauled me out of the car.

While welcoming me with a hug and a kiss, Ted said, “My god, she’s been like a little girl all morning. Just staring out the window, waiting for her friend to come play.”

Ted went to give Monsieur Girard a hand with the luggage while Tiziana gave Liam a dose of her Italian exuberance.

There was only a moment to digest the scene. My weariness melted as my heart filled with joy that these people were a part of my life. In all my dreams, I could never have imagined anything as rich as the colors, smells, and sounds of that moment.

But then, with a horrible screech—the kind that you get if you drag your nails across a chalkboard—the scene turned sour.

Another limo pulled up beside ours and out stepped a long, shapely leg, followed by the curvaceous body and beautiful face of Gemma Newley, Des Bannerman’s longtime friend and one-time lover, according to the tabloids.

Ted quickly went over to greet her. Casting me an apologetic look, Tiziana joined him and exchanged air-kisses with her. I felt no surprise when Des Bannerman emerged a moment later. Feeling Liam’s warmth beside me, I realized how cold I had become.